Round Two
by watermelon.drops
Summary: A Jersey Shore Fanfiction. Centers around Jenni and Pauly's relationship from both the first season and my version of the 4th season. Other characters and seasons apply. Enjoy.
1. Sober

**Round Two.**

**By: watermelon . drops**

**Chapter 1: Sober**

Hands gripping her hips restrict her flow, make her feel slow and unbalanced.

She shoves them off.

There's a weight on her shoulders, literally, making her slump.

She shrugs it off.

For whatever reason she can hear the click of heels over the pounding of the music, still vibrating the room around her, and the sound begins chipping away at her beautifully prolonged buzz.

She kicks them off.

_Jenni._

She smiles. . . 'cause that's her name. And it's funny because she could almost _swear_ that sounded like Deena. She laughs before she can think better of it and all the lights, swirling and spinning and dancing, seem a little less appealing when the room around her starts swirling and spinning too. The people neighboring her drift in and out until they're nothing but colors, whirling around the spot she's managed to stay planted to. She stumbles backwards a bit, into something hard and wet and her hand is reaching around grasping at what she'll later remember to be a shirt.

"Whoa, babe, let's take it easy."

It's a whisper, hot breath across her ear, lips tracing down her neck, but it's not enough to distract her from the hands. They're back on her hips, fingering the laces up the back of her dress.

_Jenni._

Her head falls back to rest against a shoulder, eyes turning to find that voice, the one that sounds so much like Deena's. When she actually sees Deena, standing there, head tilted slightly, arms folded, eyes a little wider than usual; things start to fall out from under her.

"Dee . . - Deena?"

She doesn't really like the way she sounds when she speaks; raspy, almost sick. The sounds that had abruptly disappeared come tumbling back into place and everything is suddenly _so_ much louder than she remembered. The hands feel tighter, the shoulder less familiar. When she turns around and doesn't recognize the face, her stomach turns a little. It's then she notices she's not actually standing, but strategically seated in said stranger's lap. Her extremities refuse to work in her favor when his face continues to irritate her dinner.

"Jenni, what the hell? I've been looking for you for twenty minutes, c'mon."

Hands are gripping her arm and she starts to feel too much like a doll, being pulled back and forth between tall, dark and stranger and Deena. "We need to get you home," she says. "You don't look so hot." She hears the phrase, the one they always use when someone has gotten _way_ too drunk, _way_ too fast, and is starting to make a fool of themselves. . . . - it would explain why she has no recollection of stranger and how she ended up on his lap. She tries to remember the day before they got to this club, before the lights and the drinks and the music. If she could remember she could put it all together, figure out why she's acting this way. She hasn't felt _this_ smashed since. . . .shit, who knows when. When her mind remains a slur of colors and nothing, she lets Deena pull her up. It's a little overwhelming now that she's half awake. She liked it better when she was absent.

"Jenni I cant carry you, darlin'. You're gonna have to help me out a little…. Meatball, remember?"

Her eyes try to find her friend, to see what she's so obviously trying to point out, but they keep getting distracted by the movements. The walls are following strobe lights, the floor is following the feet dancing on it…. - she's suddenly wishing one of the guys were there. The fact that they aren't makes this strange experience that much more ridiculous.

"Wher…. -where is every..- one?"

They stop stumbling for just a second, Deena lets her sink to the ground. "They're at home. Girl's night out, remember?"

"No." Jenni feels her stomach shift again and she lets herself burp. And really wishes she hadn't when the taste hits her mouth. "Not really."

"What did you drink?" Deena sounds almost exasperated, a little surprised. "You said you were stopping like an hour ago."

"I don't know," she sighs, head reeling too far to the right. "I cant remember."

"Okay." Stubby arms are pulling her back up. "We need to get you out of here."

The walk to the door isn't very memorable considering she cant think past the crazy pounding in her head, but she notices when another set of hands find her other arm, start leading her in the direction Deena is pulling. She doesn't realize they're in a taxi until they've stopped in front of….wherever….and she finally notices Sammi, tugging her out of the car door. Their voices echo in the building once they're inside. She knows because all she can hear is Deena; "Need some help down here! Helloooo?"

Heels are clacking against marble stairs and her knees are surely bleeding after the third or fourth time she falls forward into them. _God_, when did she get so sloppy? When was the last time she let herself get _this _drunk? She finally loses whatever balance she had and when she hits the stairs again she doesn't really feel like getting back up. She hears the girls chattering above her, some _please get up's_ and _Jenni we're almost there's_ thrown around here and there. But, honestly, she's too tired to move. And she's pretty sure that if she tries, she'll barf.

"Oh man."

She hears a new voice, a very familiar, very groggy sounding voice.

"What happened?"

And then larger, warmer hands are on her shoulders, pulling her up. Her face melts against bare chest and she recognizes the smell instantly. Good ol' Pauly.

"I don't know. We were drinking and dancing and then she disappeared. This is how I found her."

She really despises that they're talking about her like she's not there. Or rather, like she's some kind of damsel that needed rescuing. Granted she'd undoubtedly spend the night on the sidewalk if it weren't for the help of these three, she'd gladly cuddle with pavement if it meant they'd stop talking about her like _that_. Like she's Snooki or Deena, always sloppily falling into bed after a night out drinking or something. Everyone has too much sometimes, right? Tonight is just her night.

"How ya feelin', girl?"

The icy floor surprises her when bare ass is gently placed atop it. - Was he carrying her? "Fine."

She finally opens her eyes, gets a blurry look at his face. The concern makes her want to laugh.

"You don't look fine to me."

"Well…. -"

Well, she is, dammit. - It's what she was going to say. Right before she face planted into the toilet bowl and got rid of all that shit she ate for dinner, whatever it was. Who knows how many drinks spill out and she remembers why she hates throwing up so much. She's dry heaving when she notices his hand on her back, his other brushing through her hair. She cant make out what he's saying over the sound of her disgusting display but the sound of his voice makes her feel a little more at ease with it all. As off-putting as it is, the fact that she cant remember shit before twenty minutes ago was starting to make her a little nervous.

"Water?"

She gives a little nod, though she'd really rather him stay right there and help her _not_ fall out on the bathroom floor. But he hasn't moved when he puts the glass in front of her face and when she turns, Ronnie is in the doorway, frowning.

She takes a sip.

"Better?" He doesn't let her answer. "So what happened?"

She takes another sip because, really, she doesn't know how to answer him. "I guess I drank too much, I don't know. Cant really remember much. Just Deena and everything after that."

"Obviously."

He doesn't sound all that happy with her answer… - well who the hell cares 'cause it's none of his business, anyway! And she was ready to tell him as much when her head started whirling in that weird little circle again. "I want to go to bed."

Pauly doesn't argue, doesn't so much as grunt, before picking her up again like that figurative doll she so imaginatively derides. She's cradling the cup to her chest and unwillingly lets her cheek fall against his chest. He's too comfortable to be so muscular. "Smoosh room."

He glances down at her, uncertain. "What?"

"I wanna sleep in the smoosh room."

He raises a brow.

"The bed's bigger."

She's being tucked under the covers before she realizes he never answered and she's grabbing his hand, pulling him back when she notices he's trying to leave. It's not that she needs someone to sleep with her. She's a big girl. She just needs the extra cushion, the extra comfort. The fact that he's been so….sweet…has nothing to do with it. The fact that she cant remember the last time she's cuddled with Pauly is at the absolute _back_ of her mind. The fact that she's kind of missed him isn't even entered into the equation. It's nothing like that. He's just there.

"Stay."

He immediately starts shaking his head, his frown telling her just how bad of an idea he thinks it is. But that doesn't matter right now. She's tired, and drunk, and she wants him to stay. Shouldn't that justify everything in the morning? Shouldn't that make waking up with him a little easier to digest? Some unclouded part of her brain sees the anxiety in the way his eyes are narrowed, the rigid set of his body and the way he's still partially turned toward the door, like he's having to fight to say no. If she were sober, she'd have let him. That look on his face, one nobody ever sees, that strange vulnerability she's always been able to pull out of him. . . . - it should have been enough for her to know that what she's doing is wrong. That she shouldn't make him stay. That he's telling her something with the way he's looking at her. Like maybe she's hurting him somehow.

But she isn't sober.

And when he crawls in the bed, when he wraps himself around her in the dark and she feels _so_ at ease, when she hears something that sounds a lot like Roger's voice in the other room…..she really wishes sober was something attainable.

.

**a/n. - Right, so somebody had to write one eventually, right? Reality shows really aren't my thing, but I've become quite addicted to these characters. So I decided to write a little something on them. I'm gonna go ahead and warn you; this is going to be a Jenni/Pauly fic. . . Obviously. But I'm sure I'll write from other character's POV's. This takes place in Italy, all other seasons apply, but the latest episode, Mike and Ron's big shebang, we'll just say that didn't happen. Or hasn't yet, anyway. I'm not expecting much response for this considering it's in Misc. TV Shows but. . . Oh well. =)**

**If you're reading, hope you enjoy! Reviews complete me, btw.**


	2. Drunk

**a/n. Sort of a filler chapter, setting up for the rest of the story. Roger plays a small part in this, but is significant in a sense when it comes to Jenni moving away from the safety of that relationship, into something she's unsure of. So thank EVERYONE for all the reviews! I didnt expect so much feedback for this considering the fact that JS doesn't have it's own category. I really appreciate it! Like I said, this is sort of a filler, and the next chapter will be more Jenni/Pauly interaction and we'll see more of the room mates, including those we haven't seen yet. Chapters will fluctuate in length depending on where I want to end them and such, so nothing specific to give you there. Updates will come out more frequently after this, like I said, I didn't expect much response so this wasn't a high priority for me. lol. Thanks again! Keep the reviews up! **

**.**

**Round Two**

**By: watermelon . Drops**

**Chapter 2- Drunk. **

She'd had it right when she thought the morning would be weird. It's like waking up next to a stranger with the way he's staring at her and the way his hand is slowly moving away from her bare stomach. His hair is mussed, as confused as his eyes, and she thinks maybe she should remember why he's here - why they're both laying together in a bed that's not hers - not his either. She can hear chatter in the next room, hears her escape in Snooki's animated telling of her morning and Deena's concentrated laughter. She could get up and walk out and find them and never have to deal with this - he'll never bring it back up. She knows because they've been here before. Waking up side by side, in clothes from the night before, eyes that speak volumes and things they want to say that just never come out. It's too familiar - the way he shifts and looks away, the way he runs his hand down the expanse of his stomach - tries to divert himself from the possibilities and the half naked woman lying so torturously close. She watches him pretend to ignore her, feign interest in the pillow case - watches him avoid this with everything he has. . .but he doesn't try to leave. As uncomfortable as the situation is - neither can bring themselves to make the first move.

And she remembers brown eyes - half closed, clouded, carefree. . . . .

_Hands rub softly up her back, lips press sweetly against her neck - she didn't take him for the cuddly type. _

"_I have a boyfriend."_

_Fingers brush bangs from eyes and he's looking at her now - lips so dangerously close, eyes so enchantingly open. "So?"_

_She smiles despite herself, and finds it to be so much easier with him smiling back at her. "So I cant do this. I shouldn't have. ."_

" _- Do you love him?"_

_She hesitates, because he's always doing this - catching her off guard with questions he shouldn't be asking. It's not polite, and it's not what she's used to, and for whatever reason she knows she's going to answer. "Maybe."_

_He clicks his tongue and he's so shameless with the way he rolls his eyes at her uncertainty. "Maybe isn't an answer. You either love him, or you don't."_

_Something in her clicks into place - realization of a one sided romance and wishes of something more - and she wants to tell him the truth, that she doesn't love Tom and she wants nothing more than to let him do whatever he wants to her right here, right now. She's going to say it - she's going to spill it all, that she wants him and maybe things will be different with him. . . _

"_Yes, I love him."_

_His hands are slowly pulling away from her when she realizes that she's fooled herself again. As pleasant as the images are - he's just like the rest of them. He's just like Tom and she already has one of those, she doesn't think there's enough of her to handle another one - the first has already taken so much. He's looking at her strangely, less happy and more guarded, and she knows she probably looks the same way. It's her defense, and it's done it's job. He's getting up and he's leaving and that's exactly what she meant for him to do - she thinks he's got that something - that something that'll make her fall for him, and she doesn't see that headed anywhere but down. She'd love him, and maybe he'd love her too, but not enough. Never enough to make things the way she wants them to be. He doesn't look back when he walks out the door, and she knows they'll never mention this again. _

"Are you hungry?"

She blinks away a memory long since buried - stares at his eyes that are focused on her now. "What?"

He clears his throat, lets his hand fall to the bed between them. "I said - Are you hungry? I'm pretty sure you got rid of any sustenance you happened upon yesterday - what with your rigorous hurl session n' all."

"Oh."

She basks in the silence because his voice is so damn sexy in the morning - a fact she'd gladly voided from her memory. Her eyes pull from ceiling to the headboard and back to his face again, just in time to see the uncertainty flicker through his cheek bones, his brow, his lips. He moves to get up and, for the second time in two days, she's grabbing his hand and holding him back.

"Yes. I'm hungry."

His lips pull into something like a smirk and all the tension in the room temporarily melts - though the puddle is still fresh at their feet. "How about we go out and get some breakfast. . .I don't feel much like cooking."

"Me either," she says quietly, and she's squeezing his hand a little when he pulls her up with him, hands her the dress she wiggled out of sometime during the night.

He stops at the door, hand hovering over doorknob. "I'm going to get dressed. . .let me know when you're ready."

He's gone before she looks up and she's smiling - a real smile - as she heads for a much needed shower.

.

She's showered and dressed and ready to go before her memory starts to flood back. Her reflection in the mirror seems confused - because she swears that she heard Roger's voice before she fell asleep last night.

"Where you headed, boo?"

Jenni turns and gives Snooki a small smile, smoothing her hands over her shirt before moving to find her shoes. She feels her friend's eyes on her as she sifts through clothes and stuffed animals and blankets, as she pulls her shoes out from under her bed, as she sits and starts to put them on.

She sighs. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Why did you sleep in the smush room with Pauly?"

She chances a look at Snooki's face, and rolls her eyes when she sees that accusatory smile both Meatballs have perfected. "I was drunk. He helped me out and then I asked him to stay with me. . .I didn't want to be alone."

"Is that right?" Snooki shifts, crosses her legs. "And where are you going again?"

Jenni huffs and snatches her purse away from the smaller girl, a traitorous smile starting to rear it's head. "To breakfast!"

"With whoooo!"

"Shut up, Snooks."

She can hear Snooki's laughter ringing through the house as she enters the kitchen, moves to stand in the doorway of the sitting room, motions to Pauly that she's ready without really looking at him. She thinks she can still hear it as they're walking down the stairs and closing the door behind them.

"I take it Snooki drilled ya bout last night?"

"Yep."

He's smiling a smile that makes her feel like she's three years younger, fresh on the Jersey Shore and finding something in this guy that she loves but cant place. It makes her concerned as to why she's here - why she's doing this with him again. He makes her feel too much, makes her want something she knows wouldn't be possible for either of them. It's amazing how one night can weaken resolves to a point that they'd agree to breakfast together - alone - for the first time since the beginning. They wouldn't have done this in Miami - or even back in Jersey. They've drawn lines, made silent pacts, and up until now they've stuck to them. Up until now, she's known where she stood with all her roommates, and after the Ron-Sam bullshit when they first arrived - everyone has been in a comfortable limbo.

Five minutes into their breakfast - five minutes of hearing him laugh and chat with her like it's nothing but natural. . . .she forgets to regret the night before.

.

The house is eerily silent when she pushes the doors open, and it's now she notices that she's still arm in arm with Pauly. She doesn't pull away, it's just something close friends do, so why make a big deal out of it? But there's something in the silence that makes her wary, like it knows something she doesn't, and the expression on Vinny's face sets off a few warnings of it's own.

"What's goin' on?"

Pauly has let her go, moved to sit in one of the chairs beside Vin, and she feels awkward standing before the both of them, an odd sense of exposure creeping up her neck.

"Uh, Jenni, I think you should -"

Vinny is focused on her, leg twitching, brows pulled together, and he seems uncharacteristically nervous. She wants to hear what he's saying, wants to heed his warnings, but her eyes have lifted and she can see behind him - behind him to what he's probably trying to warn her about. Though a warning shouldn't be necessary . .she shouldn't feel like she's done something wrong.

"Roger?"

"Hey babe," he breathes, like it's the first time he's seen her in years, and he's rushing her with all the enthusiasm she _should_ feel. "I've missed you so much."

But she _does_ feel like she's done something wrong. It feels dirty, and her stomach starts churning around the really nice breakfast she just ate, tries to keep the words wedged in her throat. "Uh - hey? I - I missed you too. ."

But she doesn't hug him back like she thought she would the first time she got to see him. It's half-hearted and it doesn't feel quite right, and when she sees Pauly stand up and leave the room, she thinks the front door looks pretty appealing.

"Everything okay?"

He's staring at her with those big eyes and a smile that used to make her melt, but she's remembering someone else, a different kind of feeling, a different kind of person, and it hurts to think that Roger can see the doubt, the confusion, on her face. She's been a one man kind of woman since she first started this whole reality T.V. thing, and the realization that the one man that nearly had her cheating on Tom, will have her breaking up with Roger, without ever having to ask. Pauly would never do that, but he doesn't have to, because the grinding in her chest and the churning in her stomach is crushing her confidence and sending her heart into a frantic sort of fit, like she has no control over anything anymore, like everything's been flipped upside down and she's being forced to make choices that weren't necessary the day before. And really aren't necessary now, because nothing with Pauly is certain, they didn't even talk about the night before at breakfast - but his mannerisms when they were sitting side by side, the way his hand was always on her, the way hers was always able to find his, it's a shameful sort of reality check, and it's making her vision fog over in the face of what she left back in Jersey.

So maybe it's actually tears, but she'd never admit that out loud.

"I think we need to talk," she says slowly, quietly, and Roger's face responds immediately. "In private."

Her eyes shift over to Vinny, and he's looking at her with a sorrowful sort of knowing, but there's a hint of a smile teasing the corner of his lips before he gets up and leaves the room. Roger isn't smiling anymore, a frown in it's place, and he's taking her hand, pulling her over to the small couch in the sitting room.

"What's going on? Everything alright?"

_No, if you must know, nothing is alright. _

"Yes - I mean, nothing's happened, if that's what you mean. I just - there's something we need to talk about."

"Okay, babe. Anything."

"I've been thinking a lot since we've been here. I've got the rest of this season and then one more with my roommates, and I've realized that during the time we've been together, I've. . . I've always had. ."

" - a boyfriend," he finishes for her, his face a mixture of irritation and understanding, eyes still determinedly on her. "You've always had a boyfriend."

"Yes," she answers lamely, scrambling for a conclusion to this point she's brought up. "And I think it's kind of dictated my summers with them, like I've always kind of been held back, and the fact that we've only got one more summer together after this just hit home. Made me think that maybe I've missed out."

_Missed out on someone else_ - but the truth of that statement would be way too much to handle right now.

He's dropping her hand and scooting away from her just a little, shoulders tense and rigid. She wasn't planning on him getting _angry_ about it. . .but then she was stupid to think that she'd get out of this with a soft _'that's okay, maybe we'll work out sometime in the future'. _He's a guy, and she's kind of stomping on his pride with the way she's standing and walking away from him, the way her hands are in front of her, wringing a little nervously.

"I thought we talked about all this back in Jersey? You said you were ready."

"Yeah, I did, but now. . .being away from you and on my own again, I just. ."

"Just _what_? Met someone else?"

_Damn_.

"No!" and it's not really a lie because she didn't meet anyone here, she hasn't cheated, hasn't done anything wrong. "It's nothing like that, I just don't want to be tied down right now, I -"

"I flew all the way out here to see you! I took off work when I _knew_ my boss would be pissed! Are you kidding me right now?"

So maybe she'd been kidding herself to think that they could talk this out civilly, come to some sort of temporary understanding, maybe part as friends - potentially more, depending on circumstances after Italy - it had been a stretch, she knows. Maybe she'd actually cared for the kid and hoped that this would be the point in which she realizes that he's actually the best thing for her. You know, when he listened to everything she had to say, told her he understands, spends one last night here with her and then gallantly leaves for home in the morning, giving her the space she wants. And then, in this sparkly little dream world, she'd take the time he gave her and use it to remember all the reasons she fell for him to begin with, and when she got home they'd reunite and things would be a wonderfully blissful fairy tale from then on. Ha. As if. In _reality_, he's reacting exactly how that more cynical part of her brain knew he would. With a scrunchy face and balled up fists, short breaths and an unattractively deep frown. He's standing up to her now, chest puffed and shoulders squared - prepared to fight for his dignity, as if she's attacking him with a baseball bat or something equally as ridiculous.

"I'm trying to be honest with you, isn't that what you always tell me you want? For me to be honest?"

"Yes but - but - what the _fuck_? Where the hell is this coming from? We were fine last week on the phone and I thought -"

"On the phone, Roger," she mumbles a little irritably. "That right there says enough. We're always on the phone. I'm always working, so are you, and there just isn't time for this right now. We never see each other, and when we do it's with a million other people. It's just a bad time for a relationship. Let me finish filming, let me finish up all this stuff that keeps me so busy, and then maybe -"

"Why don't you tell me the _real_ reason, huh?"

She raises a brow, waits for the inevitable.

"Tell me what's really gotten under your skin and pushed you to break up with me. Was it one of your room mates? Was it Snooki?"

She scoffs because, whatever, as if Snooki can tell her what to do. "I am telling you the truth. I think it'd be best if we called it off for now."

He's staring at her, dumbfounded, and the guilt is nearly eating her alive.

"You're serious?"

She pauses, thinks on it for all of two seconds, part of her wondering what the hell she's doing. "Yes. Just for now. Just until I get my life back."

He laughs, a sad sounding thing, hangs his head. "Fine. If that's what you want. I mean. . .there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

_Make Pauly disappear, erase him from my memory_.

"No," she says through a sigh. "nothing."

Because even if she did love the kid, it's not enough to make her forget about all the million things she felt in the one night, one breakfast, she spent with another man. It's not enough to keep her mind from wandering to where he is, even when she's just ended a relationship, probably lost a good friend. It's not enough to keep her from anxiously pacing the floor, waiting for him to leave so she can go get herself together, to try and figure out what the hell is going on in this house.

"I'll get my things," he says, and she thinks he sounds a little calmer. "Don't take it the wrong way, I just don't feel comfortable staying after this."

"I know," she concedes, and she's being genuine with - "I care about you, Rodge. I don't want you to hate me."

"I don't."

"Feels like you do."

He turns and looks back at her over his shoulder, a rueful sort of smile spreading over his face. "Feels like there's more to this than you're letting on. So I guess we'll call it even."

She stares at the spot where he was standing long after she hears him moving through the house, gathering his things. Long after she hears him saying his goodbyes to her friends, long after she hears the front door close behind him. She's conflicted when she finally forces herself to move - about her next move, where to go from here. But when she starts for her room, sees Pauly standing in the hallway, a strange (_unreadable_) look on his face, she cant bring herself to deal with it. She looks away from brown eyes, away from the questions and accusations and something she's never been able to say no to. She brushes passed him with all the softness she feels around him and is grateful when he doesn't try to stop her, when she's able to bury herself beneath her covers and pretend the day hadn't gone so horrifically wrong. She's staring up at her ceiling when she starts thinking about taking a shot, when she thinks of all the different types of alcohol that could make her forget about everything, at least for a little while. She's closing her eyes, seeing a pair of soulful brown eyes and tattoos and tan skin, wishing she were drunk. .


	3. Undone

**Round Two**

**By: Watermelon . Drops**

**Chapter 3 - Undone **

The sun is just starting to rise when she realizes she's still on the patio, stretched out across the couch. Her bare arms and legs are covered in goosebumps, her jaw and teeth quivering and chattering as she pulls a flimsy blanket up around her shoulders. She glances at the sliding glass door, ponders moving inside, out of the strange chill . . . . . - and then remembers who's in there. She can hear Vinny and Pauly laughing, joking around like nothing in the world is amiss. _Fist-pump_, _pushups, chapstick_. It's their new thing - new game. She'd smiled at them when they'd approached her, chanted it, danced around her in her bath towel and poked fun. It's what they always do, so she'd given them enough of a reaction to keep herself from having to answer any questions. But honestly, she couldn't find it very funny. Not with the aftermath of Roger's surprise visit still looming over her head - head that's been pounding for the last three days without fail. She and Pauly's conversations have been limited to their usual three or four word a day process, maybe a goodnight, the occasional good morning, and it hasn't settled in her stomach as easily as she'd hoped. She'd been aiming for their routine, the one they'd adjusted to over the past few summers, the one that had seemed to be the only thing comfortable enough for them. After their brief _thing_ back in season one, friendship had been the epitome of the saying, _'easier said than done'_, what with the way he always manage to make her stomach flip just by looking at her, the way she always managed to find him in the room, make the easy air thicken with the darkening of her eyes and the tension of her jaw. Maybe seeing him with girl after girl after girl for the past three years has been a little difficult - maybe going to the clubs with them, every night, watching the carelessness and ease in which he went about his life, thinking on how, at one point, all that attention was for her. . . - maybe it'd been a little harder than she'd let on. And perhaps she'd buried it, shoved it down until she'd nearly forgotten about it, refused to let her mind wander there, no matter the situation or conversation or how badly she _wanted_ to remember when he'd walk past her without a word. He struck gold the other night with the resurfacing concern and the blatant attention - he _made_ her remember.

"Cold?"

Her eyes lift from the coffee table to Ronnie, standing beside the couch, cigarette in hand. "It's kinda chilly."

"Yup." There's a pause, a telling silence, and she waits for the inevitable, fingers picking at the edges of the blanket. "So why are you out here?"

A breathy laugh through parted lips, fingers fidgeting, blood pumping a little faster. "Ya know, needed some air. I get claustrophobic in there sometimes."

"Mhmm," he concedes around the cigarette dangling from his lips, lighter stuck to the end, smoke starting to collect around his face. "And it has nothing to do with Roger's disappearing act? Or how about that little breakfast with Pauly?"

"It wasn't a big deal," she argues quickly. "We just went to breakfast. I go to breakfast with Mike all the time."

He smiles, and she knows she's given something away. "You didn't almost marry Mike. Besides, you and Pauly have barely _spoken_ since that first summer in Jersey, so yeah, you going to breakfast with him after spending the night with him is a bit different."

"I didn't almost _marry_ anyone, Ron. Stop being nosey."

"Nosey?" he asks through a laugh, taking another drag. "I'm just doing what you do, helpin' a friend out, ya know? Like, just tell me what's goin' on. I've never seen you act like this."

"Like what? I just needed some air."

"Yeah, yeah - _bullshit_." and he's scooting over to her, arm raising and then dropping around her shoulders. "Tell ol' Ron-Ron what's da matterrr."

She's smiling against his shoulder and trying not to laugh at the silly look on his face or the baby voice or the finger he's poking into her side. She's sulking - not supposed to be a good time. Jerk. "It's nothing. . . I just . . -"

"Yessss?"

She nudges him, still smiling. "I broke it off with Roger."

It amazes her that five words can make the room feel fifty degrees hotter, twice as small, and three times as suffocating. He's staring at her like she's grown a third eye, like she's just told him she's switched sides and dumped Roger for a girl. His hand closes around her shoulder, in something that was probably supposed to be comforting. . .

"What happened? Did he cheat?"

She laughs out loud because, no, he didn't, and she still broke up with him. He was nice, considerate, respectful - everything she should have wanted, everything that should have been enough to keep her happy, and yet here she sits - no boyfriend, no clue as to what the hell she's doing. Nothing.

She sighs. "No. Nothing like that."

And then he's chuckling, shoulders bouncing under her cheek. "Ohhhhhh nooooo"

She realizes that she sucks at keeping her shit private. Of course he'd figure it out. "Shut up, it's not what you think."

"Really? So the day after you spend the night with Pauly, mere hours after the two of you decide to go have a romantic breakfast and spend half the day together, you break up with current boo. Now! As if that weren't enough of a giveaway, you have successfully avoided Pauly ever since at all costs, moping and pouting around like a baby with huge tits. Am I wrong so far?"

When she remains silent he finally looks down, notices the somber expression, the teeth on her bottom lip. He sighs and pulls her in closer. "Why is it a problem? You know the kid -"

"Don't," she interrupts quickly, swatting at her hair, sitting up and away from him. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore. It is what it is and I'm not going to put myself in that situation again."

"If I remember correctly," Ronnie says to her back, watching her search around for her shoes. "You're the one that turned _him_ away. So why are you acting like you've got something to lose in this. If you would just talk to him -"

"Ron, it's not as simple as that, so stop acting like I'm making it harder than it has to be. I cant explain it in a way you'd understand. I'm just. . ."

And he's in front of her again, standing just at eye level, hands trailing up her arms to her shoulders. It doesn't feel uncomfortable when he pulls her close, when he shifts and her face falls into the crook of his neck. Ronnie has always been this for her, a friend, a rock, and through it all - even when he's calling her a slut and being a dick - she's been this for him, too. Through the Sammi bullshit and the Note in Miami and everything that was left after that, her feelings for him have always remained solid. Like a brother, a confidant.

But apparently that's not what it looks like to third parties.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Her head lifts and she nearly groans seeing Sammi in the door, scowling like a monster.

"Relax, Sam," Ronnie says shortly, exasperation seeping through the calm of his voice. "We're just talking."

"And _hugging_, Ronnie, what the hell? Jenni?"

"Look Sam he came out here to -"

"I don't care! Forget it."

She's gone, and Ronnie has that look - the one he gets when he knows Sam's going to start in on her old stuff. Accusations and the unreasonable attitude, like nothing he says will be heeded, nothing he says will matter. But Jenni has watched Sam grow since the beginning of their time here, so she pats his shoulder and smiles, something genuine.

"Go talk to her, she'll get it. Just don't blab my business, aiight?"

He smirks. "Yeah. You do that fine on your own."

"Ha. Ha."

He's been gone for a few minutes when she gathers up enough courage to go back inside, when she makes her way to the kitchen and starts in on some leftovers from yesterday's dinner. When Pauly walks in, her stomach and chest and mind are in sync when she gives him a quiet, "hey", and all plummet in time when he doesn't answer. What the hell?

"You guys goin' out tonight?"

Another attempt at a conversation - another dismissal. The shrug of his shoulders and his tight-lipped silence start eating at her, and since she really has no reason not to, she reacts. "Cant answer me? What's your problem?"

When he leaves the room, ignores her staring holes into his back, she thinks that maybe she's left the real world and entered some alternate universe. One in which she's some evil succubus, stalking someone who _obviously_ has no intentions of ever talking about the other night, the other morning, and anything before or after. It pisses her off, 'cause there's not a female on this planet that likes being dissed or rejected, and before she can muster up a coherent thought on the matter, Snooki is bouncing in her face, smiling widely.

"C'mon, we're going out!"

"I don't -" _feel like going_, she finishes to herself, but Pauly and Vinny and Ron are walking towards the door and they're laughing and pumped up about getting girls and she thinks that if she doesn't go, she'll tear the house down with the animosity that's eating away at her stomach. "I'll go get dressed."

And she does. In her _best_ dress. One she'd been saving for something special, something like when Roger came to visit (_bleh_) or when they went somewhere mad fancy or, in the happenstance that she became single, wanted to get it in. Well, this just so happens to be a very special, very _single_ occasion, and she's pulling the last of her hair through the iron in her hand, a perfect curl bouncing back up once it's been released.

"Damn, girl," Deena says from behind her, smiling. "You look. . . . _hot_."

"Thank you," she says sweetly, forcing a grin. "Think the dress is too much?"

"Too much, or too little?"

And they manage a small laugh before Jenni does another turn around in the mirror, checks her makeup one more time, fluffs her hair, hair sprays it into oblivion. Yeah, so maybe she over did it. But this black dress and all that shiny shit covering it, it'll get her some attention. It'll get her some free drinks and some exciting dances and she'll have the time of her life before she has to come back here and remember all this stupid, _confusing _crap. Pauly will be the farthest thing from her mind and she wont care that Sammi's probably mad at her, or that Roger is probably humping everyone in Jersey right about now, spiteful sex and hateful words - she wont care because she'll be flying high on something she wont be able to pronounce, and nobody will be able to touch her.

.

He _hates_ her. Period.

He's never hated anyone in his life the way he hates her right now, in this moment, in this club. He hates that fucking dress, the way it shows you just how perfect her body is, the way it makes her eyes look like diamonds and her hair like silk. He hates her smile, the fact that she's smiling for this guy at all making him wanna -

"You alright, man?"

Pauly glances at Ronnie but doesn't say anything. How can he? What's there to say? It's late, he's tired, he wants to go home. Not to their flat, back to _his_ home. Away from Italy, away from Jersey, away from everything that has anything to do with Jenni. He wants to get away from the way she looked at him the other night, the way _he _felt when they went to breakfast, away from something that was just so domestic and intimate about sharing a plate and having a normal conversation. . . . .

He wants to punch a hole through that guy's head - the one dancing all over her, hands rising, gathering black material, rising. . .rising. . .rising. . .

"Can we go," he says quickly, bolting off his barstool. "I need to get out of here."

But when he looks over his shoulder, Ronnie isn't following. He's staring at Jenni, shaking his head. "She looks great, huh?" and if he wasn't shouting, Pauly wouldn't have heard him. "Funny. .almost seems like she's _trying_ to get attention. ."

It's got Pauly moving to stand beside him, eyes following the movements of her body from across the room, arms folding. "I know. What's her problem? She's never acted like that before."

Ronnie grins to himself. "I don't know. She was pretty twisted earlier today."

"Yeah," and there's a hint of bitterness to his voice. "Heard you made it all better, though."

Pauly's gone before Ronnie can blink, moving easily through the crowd, finding Mike and sitting beside him. They don't speak, 'cause Mike hasn't really been Mike as of late, and confiding in him would more than likely be a mistake. So he just sits, watching, brooding, basking in the irritation that only Jenni is able to pull out of him. It sucks, feeling this way. He cant really remember a time when he's felt like this and it _didn't_ involve her. It's a stupid, vicious little cycle, and he cant help but wonder what he'll have to do to break it. What is there to do? They dance around each other, play little games, and then it all comes crumbling down. But things are different now. She's single. She's single for the first time since he's known her and it's a little scary to think that he's glad for it. Glad that she doesn't have someone wedging themselves between what could potentially be, what they could possibly have. The fact that he's thinking about a '_them_' at all is disturbing.

And maybe it's the alcohol that's got him standing and moving across the room towards her, but nothing in him has the strength to fight it. There's not a part of him that can admit to not wanting her, in some way or another, and when he finally gets over to where she's dancing, laughing, having a good time - he's just mad. Mad that he let Tom stop him all that time ago, mad that he let Roger move in on her so quickly when it should have been _him_ picking up the pieces. It should have been _him_ at her house, helping her get her stuff, making things better when she realized just how fucked up it all was. It should have been _him_ at her back when all that shit went down in Miami. It was always someone else - Tom, Snooki, Roger, _Ronnie_. . .everyone else when it _should_ have been him. And the realization smacks him in the face and punches him in the gut and he's staggering towards her with all the force those last few car-bombs will allow.

She's watching him, confused, pushing that guy away from her. He smirks, 'cause that's how it should be. It should be him here with her, dancing and smiling, not some stranger, and she should _know_ that. After everything, she should know. But he doesn't think she does. He thinks that she's convinced that he doesn't care, that he's some kind of womanizing he-devil. And maybe it's been true for a long time, 'cause he's had his share of women, but it's always been her at the end of the day. It's infuriating to think that she sees it any other way.

"Pauly," she says slowly, curiously, "you're drunk."

He's alright until he sees Ronnie, remembers why he's pissed at her to begin with. "So? I'm always drunk when we go out."

He's walking around her, eyes following the many bodies dancing around them, smiling at a few choice girls throwing him winks and giggles. And he's got one picked out before he turns back around to face her. "Are we all ready to go?"

She raises a brow. "I guess."

But he's a little far gone, and he's already started over to the blonde at the bar, and she's responding as eagerly as they always do. He ignores Jenni's glare, ignores the almost-hurt on her face, the way her eyes are avoiding him, the way she's hurrying to the door now - no more smiles, no more fun. He throws his arm around the girl at his side, pays no mind to the fact that Vinny changed his mind about that girl he was _supposed_ to bring home. He's walking beside him, a frown pulling at his lips, a strange sort of hesitation about him.

Whatever. He's a grown man. He can do whatever he wants and if Jenni cared so much, she wouldn't have been all cozy with Ronnie earlier. Sammi wouldn't have come to him in tears, asking why he couldn't keep his girl in check. It'd taken him a minute to comprehend that she was referring to Jenni. But when he did, it didn't sting any less. He'd been unable to speak to her in the kitchen, when she'd been so calm, asking if they were going out. He couldn't form words around the strange lump in his chest, begging him to shout at her, tell her to shove off, go back to Ronnie. And now, standing directly in front of their taxi, in front of her, he cant really remember how he's ever dealt with her. How he's ever dealt with this situation. She's always had a man, always been untouchable, and now it's like the smallest things make him suspicious when he has no right to be, jealous when he has no reason. The smallest things are turning him into a raging, hormonal jerk, sort of like Ronnie, when he's always been the collected one. Always been the one without reservations, without commitment and worry and any of that crap that came with relationships. Careless and fun, yes. But this? The way he's acting now? It's like someone's melted his mind to mush and cared little to none about the repercussions.

Her eyes are glassy, a testament to how much she's been drinking, and maybe to the way he's acting. She's staring at him like she could rip his head off and, at this point, he probably deserves it. Not so much for being short and glaring daggers all night, but for that damn blonde under his arm, fingers tracing up his chest, lips pressed to his bicep. And through that thick haze of irritation, of jealous anger, he starts to deflate. His shoulders unwind in the face of her bottom lip, stuck out a little farther than usual, the tension of his jaw, in the face of her confidence, obviously wavering with the way she shifts uncomfortably in front of the sliding door, waiting for the drunken meatballs to fall in. And just like that, he feel guilty as fuck.

Just like that, he's pushing away from that girl and taking Jenni's hand, ignoring her protests. . . .and everyone else's. He's pulling her as far away from the crowd as he can get and finally between two brick buildings, an alley just large enough to accommodate the both of them.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demands immediately, pushing his arms away from her shoulders.

"I, uh," and he has no clue, 'cause he hadn't planned on getting this far. "I just. ."

"You act like a dick all night, lookin' like you're ready to murder me, you come over to me, act like you're gonna say somethin', then run off to snag that. . .that. . . -"

"- I know," he interrupts, finally making eye contact. "I know."

And she really does look beautiful. Like something straight out of a magazine, something every guy would _love_ to have a chance with. Her makeup's a little smeary now, a bit of black across the corner of her eye, but it's obvious that she put some time into it. And that damn dress. . .

"You know _what_?" she pulls him back, waving a hand in front of his face. "What's your problem?"

He moves a little closer, presses her to the wall. "Sammi said you and Ronnie. . ." he trails off, remembering the exact moment Ronnie announced he was going to smoke, remembers wondering if Jenni was still out there.

"She said what? That we were hugging?"

He looks up at her, nods a little.

"Well, we were," she says loudly, trying to shove him away. "We were hugging because he was trying to make me feel better! 'Cause he's my _friend_."

He cant honestly blame it on the alcohol, not with the sudden clarity of his thoughts, but the thought of she and Ronnie hugging just makes him feel ill, and maybe that's why he pushed a little closer, let his hands fall to her hips, reveled in the way her eyes tried to flutter closed once he was completely against her, flush, whole. He thinks of all the times he's done this when he was wasted out of his mind, with other women, at other clubs - but he cant remember a time when his heart's ever beat _this_ hard, anticipating her reaction or his next move. His stomach's never twisted into knots when he's looked up, looked into eyes that were usually half closed, hooded and foggy. But then she's never been like other girls, and he finds her staring at him, amber browns easily undoing him, like they always have.

And maybe she hadn't exactly quelled the jealousy that arose when thinking of her and Ronnie. . ._together_, but she'd given him enough for the time being, for his drunken reservations, and when he kisses her, he really does feel like he's coming undone, like she's taking that little bit of control he had left and tangling it around her fingers - like she's doing with his hair, nails rubbing softly against his scalp. She's moving with him, and even though he knows that one kiss cant last forever, they cant lose themselves in the safety of it, it's enough for now, 'cause he's been waiting three years to do this and it's everything he remembered and everything he imagined and he drinks it up, lets it soak in, because he knows when it's over. . . .there's always a chance it'll never happen again.

.

a/n. =) yay! Another chapter. Only took 50 friggin' years, I know. Sorry. I've been working over 40 hrs with this holiday season and writing has been soooo difficult with all the distraction. Thanks for reading, though! Your reviews made me smile, and pushed me to finish. So keep em' coming! Next chapter will start right where this one left off. Things change a lot from here. Lots of tension and, of course, an inevitable blow out/talk sort of deal. Thanks again for reading and reviewing!


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